


Trinity

by johnsarmylady



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Drama, Gen, Strange texts, Stranger Assignations, three men and and End Game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-31 00:07:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3957052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnsarmylady/pseuds/johnsarmylady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three years. Three Men. Every Game has a start, a middle and an end. The game - this game -  is coming to an end. A story told in three 221B's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Start

He had seen the consulting detective with his own eyes – the man was supposed to be dead, yet he had seen him crossing Boston Place, making his way towards Baker Street, checking on the health and well-being of his friend.

A slow, almost feral smile crossed his face, his salt-and-pepper moustache bristling as his top lip curled.  It would now be only a matter of time before Doctor Watson lay dead at his feet – Holmes too, if he played his cards right.

 ~O~

The empty house across from 221B was the obvious place, Sherlock knew, and the front window looked directly into the flat.

A half smile crossed the sharp chiselled features as he spotted once more from the corner of his eye the fair-haired sniper, the last of Moriarty’s network.  It would be surely be a close run thing but he was sure he could succeed; all he needed was his faithful blogger once more at his side.

 ~O~

What the hell did this text message mean?

_‘Your assistance is required at the rear of 218 Baker Street. 7pm. Come armed if convenient. If inconvenient, come armed anyway.’_

Immediately John’s mind flew back to that first night, and his decision to come to Baker Street.  That night had changed his life forever, and despite the Fall he had never once looked back.


	2. A Middle

A careful study of the area surrounding 221B showed the ideal spot, a window with an unimpaired view into the residence of the ex-army doctor.

He was sure that Holmes would make an appearance tonight; he had watched, seen the signs.  He would allow the reunion with the doctor, and then shatter the older man’s world once more by putting a bullet into the head of Sherlock Holmes. The doctor wouldn’t suffer for long though, as he would take great pleasure in removing him too, thus completing his revenge.

 ~O~

Moran was patient, Sherlock had to acknowledge that fact, and the man was waiting until he and John were together before making his move.  It had been necessary to give the impression that he was convinced that finally it was safe for him to return home.

Quite deliberately he had drawn the sniper’s attention to the empty house, and his homeless network had kept watch. Tonight would be the night.

 ~O~

The back entrance of 218 Baker Street was accessed through a dark alley, and John was aware this could be a trap, but there was something about that message that drove him on.

As he stepped cautiously through the overgrown garden he was grabbed from behind, and a voice whispered in his ear. John’s eyes widened as he recognised that hushed baritone.


	3. An End

Weak kneed and stumbling, John allowed himself to be dragged into the shadow of the house, the hand still wrapped around his mouth; although he was sure he couldn’t speak even if he wanted to. Suddenly his back hit the wall, and he was looking up into eyes that, far from lifeless were sparkling with the familiar thrill of the chase.

Removing his hand, Sherlock held a finger to his grinning lips, and indicated that John should follow him through back door.

The consulting detective used a torch to pick up footprints in the dust, and both men trod carefully so as not to leave tell-tale prints of their own.

At the top of the stairs was a cupboard, dark, dusty, but large enough for the two men to stand inside. As they waited John thought he would burst with all the questions he wanted to ask, but the sound of footsteps stilled his tongue.

Waiting until the sniper lined up his shot; Sherlock stepped out and rushed him.   Moran swung his rifle round, but John fired, hitting his shoulder, incapacitating him. 

Kicking the sniper’s gun away, John turned and slammed Sherlock against the nearest wall, his eyes blazing with a mixture of hope and fury.

“If I wasn’t so glad to see you I’d kill you myself, you smug bastard!”


End file.
